


The Runaway

by therunawaypen



Series: Sherlock Tumblr Prompt Fills [50]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, M/M, Teenagers, posh Mycroft, runaway Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therunawaypen/pseuds/therunawaypen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade ran away from home and will never return. Even if he has to live on the streets with only the clothes on his back.</p><p>But running into two posh looking boys in school uniforms leads to one of the most interesting evenings of Greg's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> teen!lock Greg ran away from home and is now in the streets. Mycroft finds him and decides to take him in. —anon

Greg hated the rain. It was wet, it turned dirt to mud, is made his clothes stick to his skin, and most of all, it made it near impossible to light a damn cigarette. Which was all the more frustrating when it was his last smoke.

Greg loathed the rain. Even standing under the awning of the stone building behind him couldn’t shield him from the downpour.

“Son of a bitch…” He muttered as he finally managed to light the damn thing. The light from his cigarette and his threadbare jacket was the only warmth he was getting that particular night. He only had fifty pounds to his name, and he was going to use that for a train ticket. So he would be sleeping on the streets that particular night. Or perhaps in some secluded corner of the underground if he could find a dry spot…

“Those things will kill you.”

Blinking, Greg turned his head. Standing next to him was a young boy, staring up at him with incredibly blue eyes. “Well it’s a good thing this is my last one, huh?”

“You’ll be having cravings before this time tomorrow and you’ll buy more cigarettes instead of food.”

Greg could only stare. Judging by the boy’s uniform, he probably came from well-to-do school, which meant he was probably a spoiled brat. Cheeky little thing too.

The door to the building opened again, and another boy in uniform stepped out, “We were to wait inside for the car to arrive, Sherlock.”

The other boy was closer to Greg’s age, and his uniform and hair was more neatly in place. He was even opening an umbrella to keep himself dry during the storm. Greg also noticed that the boy was trying his very best to keep from staring at Greg, which he couldn’t exactly blame him for: he knew he looked like a downright vagabond after being on the road for as long as he had.

A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, confirming Greg’s suspicion that the two boys were from a family with more money than they knew what to do with. The driver got out and opened the door for both boys, and Sherlock scrambled into the car. The other boy paused, then turned to Greg.

“Join us?”

* * *

 

Greg must have been out of his mind, sitting in the backseat of a luxury car next to a cheeky child and a teen whose name he didn’t know. Though if he was honest with himself, the chance of a dry night and maybe a good meal had been all too tempting to resist.

Sherlock was grinning like he knew a secret, and it made Greg slightly nervous.

His nerves didn’t ease as the car pulled up to a stunning house. And his gut twisted at the thought of what the owners of said house would say when they saw their sons had brought home a runaway. Greg’s own parents hadn’t been fond of him; he highly doubted that someone else’s parents would.

“Mummy and Father aren’t home.” Sherlock piped up, swinging his legs. “They’re away for conference.”

“Uh…” Greg stared at the boy, wondering what exactly he had gotten into as the car stopped in the garage. The moment the car stopped, Sherlock was out of the car and rushing inside. Barking was heard inside, and Greg figured it was the family dog.

The other boy led Greg inside, “There’s a guestroom and bathroom you can use for the time being.” He said smoothly, “I imagine you’d like to wash up…I’ll tell Marie to prepare some dinner for you.”

The runaway could imagine that Marie was some sort of cook or housekeeper, yet another aspect of life that was foreign to Greg. And the guest room and bath only added to the alien sense of it all. He had seen hotel rooms that didn’t look as posh.

But Greg was grateful for a shower with hot water, not to mention decent soap (even if the stuff _smelled_ expensive). And if he was unnerved by the pajamas that were laid out on the bathroom counter by the time he was out of the shower, his nerves were overwhelmed by the relief of wearing clean clothes (in hind sight, he really should have packed more clothes before he left home).

The pajamas were a silky material (maybe they were silk, what did he know?), and out of habit Greg didn’t wear the top. Running a hand through his hair absentmindedly to shake the excess water, Greg made his way through the house.

He was surprised that he actually found the dining room. He was even more surprised to find both boys sitting at the dinner table eating.

“Oh bugger…” Greg grumbled, realizing belatedly how awkward it was to wander around someone’s home without a shirt.

Sherlock stifled a giggle, despite the glare his brother had sent him. Said brother, whose name Greg had yet to learn (honestly, what had he been thinking going home with someone whose name he didn’t even know?) was doing his best to keep his face neutral after scolding Sherlock, “You must be hungry.” He said simply, as if Greg wasn’t half naked in the dining room.

Greg was hungry. He really was. Life as a runaway was not one that paid well, if at all, and there had been many nights in which Greg had been forced to ignore his stomach’s cries for attention. It was one of the few things that had ever tempted him to return home. But pride and the desperate need to escape outweighed a few hunger pains.

But now Greg couldn’t help himself, he nearly dove head first into the plate in front of him. It was only when he had a mouthful of some sort of beef dish and some carrots that he realized the brothers were watching him intently. Swallowing, Greg did his best to slow down, “I…uh…thanks. For letting me stay here. I know you didn’t have to do anything, and I’ll never be able to repay you…” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “I mean, I could have been some sort of strung out addict or—”

“You’re not an addict.” Both brothers chorused calmly, startling Greg.

“Um, yes, well, I’m not, but…how—”

“You don’t have any track marks.” Sherlock nodded, pointing to the crooks of Greg’s bare arms, “No needle marks!”

“Try to practice tact, Sherlock.” His brother sighed, “Or perhaps go play with Redbeard for a bit.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but left the room, most likely to play with Redbeard (who Greg imagined was the dog). Which left Greg alone with the other boy at the dinner table.

“I apologize for my brother.” The other boy said, sitting up straight. “He hasn’t quite grasped the concept of discretion yet.”

Greg shrugged, “I can’t say I know any kid that does grasp it.” He admitted. Taking another bite of food, he continued, “I am grateful though, for everything. I don’t want to seem like a mooch...”  Greg trailed off, clearing his throat, “I’m Greg, by the way.”

The boy blinked, as if it hadn’t occurred to him to even ask for his houseguest’s name. The stunned expression on his face didn’t last long, though, replaced by his usual calm expression, “I’m Mycroft.”

Well, pretentious names to go with the posh house. Greg should have guessed it would have been something along those lines, “So do you often invite the homeless to come home with you?”

“No, but it seemed prudent to assist a runaway.” The boy, Mycroft, nodded.

Greg raised an eyebrow, “Did you go through my things?”

Mycroft shook his head, “The way you spoke suggested you had a relatively good education, not something expected from someone who grew up on the streets. That, and the fact that your bag is relatively new, only on the market for a year or two, and the wearing on it is not enough to suggest that it had been receiving heavy use over a long stretch of time. So you haven’t been on the run for long.

“You don’t want any contact with your past: no phone, no wallet with ID. So you don’t want to go back to where you were from. Which you might have been forced to do, given the number of ribs…I can…count…” He trailed off now, looking away. Greg could see the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

The whole thing was rather surreal, Greg had to admit, “You got all that from looking at me?”

“And hearing you, yes.” Mycroft replied, before getting up and heading to the other room. Greg didn’t know what Mycroft might have been doing in the other room, or even what the other room was exactly (kitchen? library? study?). When he returned, Mycroft was holding a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

Greg raised an eyebrow, “And here I thought you posh types didn’t smoke.”

“We don’t smoke the trash cigarettes you were smoking.” Mycroft replied, taking out a cigarette and holding it between his fingers. Then the teen offered another cigarette to Greg.

And Greg was hardly the type to reject a free smoke. Popping the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Greg raised an eyebrow at Mycroft, “Gotta light?”

A new expression crossed Mycroft’s face, a small smirk, before pulling a sleek looking lighter from his pocket. It wasn’t a cheap plastic one like the one Greg had stashed in the pocket of his jacket. No, this one was probably some sort of precious metal (rich people did that, right?) and was engraved with some family crest or motto.

Granted, that didn’t matter much as Mycroft held the flame up for Greg to light his cigarette. He was warm, he had a full stomach, he clean.

And most importantly, he was out of the rain.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg couldn’t remember the last time in which he woke up in an actual bed. After so long of sleeping on the ground, curled up on the streets, the softness of a mattress felt almost foreign to him.

Greg also wasn’t used to waking up to little blue eyes staring at him, “You were drooling while you slept.”

Blinking, Greg sat up. It took him a few moments to realize that he was looking at the young boy. Sherlock, Greg remembered. Then again, how could he forget such names? Or the fact that he was in one of the poshest houses he had ever seen.

“Mycroft said that you need to wake up, breakfast is ready.” Sherlock nodded, “And he said you need to get dressed, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you came down without a shirt again.”

“Are you always this blunt?” Greg raised an eyebrow, getting out of the bed.

Sherlock didn’t seem fazed, “Why should I lie?”

Well, he certainly had a point there, “If only more people thought like that.” Greg chuckled, looking around the room for his bag, “Have you seen my things?”

“Oh, we threw out your old clothes, they were terrible.” Sherlock nodded, “There are new clothes in the dresser.”

Greg paused, torn between being upset that his things were thrown away and wondering just when someone had the time to buy new clothes and sneak them into the bedroom while Greg was asleep.

It was slightly unnerving having to wear clothes that a stranger bought him, especially since they were exactly his size. It was slightly more unnerving that Sherlock refused to leave the room while he changed.

“Do you mind?” Greg muttered, looking back at the uppity child lurking in his room.

“No.”

Obviously there was no getting rid of Sherlock, so Greg simply got dressed, trying not to think of just how expensive his new clothes were. “You didn’t have to buy me clothes…” he murmured.

“Mycroft wanted to.” Sherlock nodded, “I’m pretty sure he wants to keep you so he can stare at you when you aren’t looking. Not that you mind of course.”

Greg had to resist the urge to look shocked, “Do I even want to know?”

“The look you two shared while smoking.”

“Of course you were spying.”

“I know when my brother wants me out of the way. And that’s when I want to be in the way the most.”

Greg snorted, “You must be a real joy to live with.”

Sherlock smirked, heading out the door, “Of course!”

Well, at least his impromptu hosts weren’t boring, Greg reasoned as he made his way down to the dining room for breakfast.

Because if there was one thing more strange than being taken in by a couple of posh youngsters, it was a teenager dressed in a suit for breakfast.


End file.
